the song that summer sings
by writtenndust
Summary: Notting Hill AU: It was one thing to fantasize about her when she was an abstract concept, a forty-foot tall dream in technicolour. It was different when she was a living, breathing, cinnamon smelling woman who walked into his shop, mid-morning on a Tuesday.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** So this basically came about from me saying: _"Notting Hill AU, yay/nay?"_ to (somewhereapart)'s response: _"Oh my God yes please yes!"_ \- and so we have a Notting Hill AU where Regina is the most famous actress in the world and Robin is a lowly bookstore owner who babbles when he's nervous and falls head over heels in love, at first sight.

* * *

It was coming right to the end of winter, the streets were drying up and to Robin's comfort, it hadn't snowed in weeks. Finally, he was feeling like he could go without the scarves and tucking his hands deep in his pockets every time he stepped out the door - because why would he wear his gloves? That would be just too clever. But there wasn't much that could keep him indoors, down the colourful end of Notting Hill that he called home.

The market that lined Portobello Road had always been a major draw for him, with it's fruits and vegetables and honey roasted nuts, wafting down the street in the cooler months, the smell of citrus and wildflowers, spilling from overstuffed carts, heady and delicious in the spring,

It had always been his favourite place, even when he was a boy and his family would travel into London on a Saturday so that his mother could peruse the antiques that spilled from Alice's Antique Shop. He remembered being given five pound - a lot he realised, looking back at his parents less than ample means - every second Saturday and being warned to spend it on what he wished, but take great care, the treasures to be found on the Portobello Road could be well hidden and easily overlooked if one were to dash too quickly through.

His favourite purchase had come when he was nine; a small wind-up monkey that played the cymbals as it walked. He'd been proud of himself, haggling the seller down from seven pound - he didn't have to go back and beg his father for another two pound - and he'd felt himself to be a halfway decent entrepreneur that day. He supposed that was half the drive he'd had to open up shop, just down the other end of the road.

He ambled his way down the street, never tiring of the colourful terraces and the smell of fresh fruits and flowers. His collar was pulled up high, tucked behind his ears - because even though the snow was gone, that wind could still be icy if it hit just at the right angle. But the sun was warm and he found himself following it, ducking between carts to stay out of the shadows as he made his way to the store.

Sherwood Rare Books; he'd opened it nearly ten years ago with his friend Will, the store named for the serendipitous nature of his and Will's own names. Robin Locksley and Will Scarlett, friends from childhood - what were the odds?

The bell above the door chimed as he made his way in, shucking off his coat as he was hit with the warmth of the store. Will was cold-blooded, Robin was sure, always keeping the entire shop at a heat level that had him roasting through his button-down, most days. Every morning, when he'd arrive a good two hours after his friend, he'd have to make a dash for the radiator to turn the blasted thing down before Will warmed them out of their next electricity bill.

The shop was barely breaking even as it was, with foot-traffic down on previous years. They made a bit on the rarest finds, with collectors travelling in from as far as Aberdeen - one guy had flown in from Dubrovnik, because he'd heard that Robin had one of those incredibly rare, single-print, hand-stitched volumes that took a collectors breath away. Thankfully, they'd developed a bit of a reputation for procuring the unprocurable as far as leather-bound first-editions went, but their day-to-day takings were next to abysmal. Still, he loved the little shop, with it's shelves packed so high they were bursting. Piles of books were stacked up next to overflowing shelves, the categories running onto the floor when they ran out of space. There was a staircase that ran behind the counter, stacked high and turned into a makeshift shelving unit. He'd even installed shelves that ran over the top of the doorways to the back of the shop, fully enclosing the space in a heady, warm blanket of book-dust and old leather that warmed Robin's heart, just breathing it in.

As much as he wanted to make a better living, to be bringing in more cash to pay for the finer things he nearly never had, he loved the books more. In that store, there were worlds unlimited to explore, characters and stories to enliven and enrapture, to take you away from the world and embark on a new adventure, each and every day. The warmth he felt, sitting at the counter, surrounded by his books; he was happy, he had everything he needed. He was content.

"Mornin' Bossman," Will grinned, making his way from the back of the shop with a small stack of books he looked set to organise into their rightful places.

Robin nodded, throwing him a long-suffering smirk as he reached for the dial on the radiator, turning it down.

"Just gettin' it toasty for ya." Will smirked, turning his back and counting across a shelf before stuffing a thick, leather-bound Austen on a shelf just above his eye line.

"Yeah, well, watch it with the toasting, our bill was almost more than the bill on the house last month."

Will turned to him then, wincing slightly before narrowing his eyes at Robin with laughter in them. "Well, oi, you can't blame me for that one, I'm out the door well before you and most of my weekends are spent at Ana's."

"Yes, well, there must be respite somewhere." Robin smirked, his eyes dancing at his friend who - checking the books in his hands - tossed a significantly un-valuable copy of Shakespeare's sonnets at him, knowing Robin would catch it. And catch it he did, against his chest, glaring at the man for tossing it, regardless that it wasn't even nearly an antique like the books in the old section, but a pre-loved paperback Will had obviously snaffled up from the book-swapping station out front.

"Screw you, mate." Will grinned, disappearing back around the corner to the back of the store with laughter in his comment and Robin took a seat behind the computer, almost wincing at the idea of looking at the accounts. He had a collector coming in a week to look at a collection of first Editions which he knew would break them even for at least another few months, but he needed to shift some numbers around if he was going to get that upsize on his latte, that he was bound to need for the process, when coffee hour came around.

The bell above the door chimed and for a moment, Robin was stunned at the idea of anyone braving their quaint little store at the end of Portobello Road before eleven in the morning, especially on a Tuesday. But there was a real, flesh and blood person squeezing through the glass door and taking Robin's breath away.

She was slight; petite was likely the best word to describe it, wearing tight - _very tight_ \- dark-wash skinny jeans and a black, leather jacket. Her hair was dark, straight and bobbed, and offset against the jet-black of her panama hat sitting on the crown of her head.

"Good Morning." Robin offered her a greeting and she answered with a small, gentle quirk of her lips before burying her face in a shelf. She was stunning, he noticed, in an incredibly effortless way. Her eyes were hidden behind a thick pair of Clubmaster Ray Bans that surprisingly, she didn't remove but simply tipped down the bridge of her nose to peek rich chocolate, dark-rimmed eyes over the top to read the titles. The shirt beneath that leather jacket was of a soft-looking, off-white silk and she wore a long-chain necklace with a geometric brass pendant.

He found himself watching her, mesmerised by her as she scanned her eyes across the shelves, apparently looking for something, though he was loathe to push her into telling him just what that was. She looked familiar, he realised and for the life of him, he couldn't pull his eyes away from her port-wine lips as she chewed the inside of her cheek and he tried to place her.

Just then, Will made his way back through the book archway and into the front of the shop with a new stack and a quip ready on his tongue, when he came face to face with the woman in the Clubmaster shades.

"Fuck me!" Will blurted, staring at her gobsmacked as his books went flying into the air and he desperately tried not to drop them on the floor, fumbling to catch them, his East-Midlands accent making the outburst almost comical. He stared at her, open mouthed and it was in that moment, as she stood there stunned in the middle of his shop, face to face with his idiot of a best friend, it clicked. Robin knew who she was. The realisation seemed to startle her as much as both men, as Will suddenly spun on his heel and dashed from the room again, awkwardly dragging his haphazard pile of books and disappearing out of sight and letting the store fall into an awkward, pregnant silence.

"Sorry," Robin cleared his throat, breaking her from her stunned stupor. "He's an idiot." He gestured towards where Will had disappeared as she turned to look at him. One perfectly sculpted eyebrow rose over the rim of her glasses and Robin coughed, uncomfortably. "You know," He winced. "Maybe it's tourettes, I haven't really had him tested but definitely, you shouldn't worry about him in the slightest, I'll smother him later." He blinked as she stared at him, flinching under her scrutiny. "Can I help you find something specific?" He tucked his hands in his pockets, desperate to dig his way out of the awkwardness.

For a moment, he thought he may have seen the smallest hint of a smile on her lips, but she gave nothing away as her eyes drifted around the store for a moment, once again. "I was looking for something with some English folk-lore," Those dark eyes looked over her glasses again, her accent confirming his suspicions with a sort of finality that sent butterflies flitting around in his stomach. "Maybe some fairytales?"

Robin blinked, surprised but didn't question as he stepped out from around the counter and brushed past her in the tight space - _she smelled of cinnamon apples_ \- to guide her toward his favourite section in the whole shop. "We've got some great stuff here," he waved his hand across the shelf, resting beside, but not touching, his favourite leather-bound volume that was so beautiful his hands had often itched to pull it down from the shelf and keep it for himself and by extension, his son, who loved falling asleep to the sound of his voice, telling stories of knights and princesses and grand adventures. But it was a first-edition, an indefinable edition, that had priceless written all over it, and with his finances, he couldn't afford to not have it up there, in prime position and aching to be snaffled up.

"What's this one?" She questioned and Robin felt something in his stomach flutter as her perfectly manicured, burgundy painted nail tapped on the spine - of course, naturally, she spotted _that_ book.

"Ah, great choice," He pulled it down, feeling something inside of him twist as he rested it against the palm of his hand and held it out to her, caressing the gold-embossed lettering on the cover. "A lot of the classics as well as some lesser-known, but beautiful fairy-tales. This volume is one of a kind, you won't find another like it."

"I'll take it."

Robin blinked. "Okay," He rasped, stepping around her as she turned slowly, and headed back to the counter to ring it up. "You know, we've got a whole other few sections out the back, if you want to keep looking, I mean, it's not to say this one isn't great, but we've got an extensive range here, wouldn't want you to go home with the wrong book," He winced, he was babbling, but he couldn't stop. "Not that this is the wrong book, I mean, it's a great book, really good stories, and not the Disney versions but the ones that are just a little bit twisted,"

She scrunched her nose and he regretted his comment, watching her.

"Not to say that they're weird or anything, just original, you know." He took a deep breath, letting it out in a puff as he forced his mouth to _just stop_ as she handed over her credit card and Robin had to consciously bite down on his bottom lip to silence himself long enough to process the sale.

He handed back her card, his breath coming out in an awkward shudder as her finger touched his over her American Express and he had to swallow to stop his heart jumping out of his throat. _God, she was beautiful close up, that kind of flawless skin-tone and makeup that garnered disbelief_. "Here," He grabbed a thin, hardback volume of the tales of Robin Hood that they kept in little stacks of green leather on the counter and tossed it into her brown paper bag with the large book he'd wrapped in white tissue paper. "Have this one for free, it's an english classic, and the shop is sort of named after it so we can call it a souvenir."

She nodded slowly, her eyes still locked on his face as she took the bag from him, offering him the smallest, indulgent smile. "Thank you."

"My pleasure, milady." He blinked rapidly, watching her as she turned and made her way back toward the door. The little bell rang once more, the glass door banged closed and he was drowned in silence once again as he watched her walk along the front of the store window and disappear down the street.

"Bloody hell, mate, do you have a single sodding clue who that was?!" Will's voice startled Robin and he jumped, just a little, dragging his eyes from where she'd disappeared and turning to his friend, blinking. Robin ran a hand through his hair, letting out his breath in a long puff that had his chest rising higher and falling deeper than it needed to. He needed air, real air.

"You want a tea?" He questioned his still flabbergasted friend, doing his level best not to acknowledge what had just happened in favour of trying his damnedest to over-analyse it in his head.

"Tea!" Will blustered. "You're going to get a fucking tea when _Regina_ fucking _Mills_ just-" Robin cut him off with a look, squeezing between his friend and the counter as he headed for the door.

"I'm going to get some tea." He said quietly, close to his friend's face with teeth pressed together, before he dropped his hand to the doorknob and pulled it open, the sound of that bell bringing back flashes of her port-wine lips, her tight jeans and the curve of her - he stopped himself. It was one thing to fantasize about her when she was an abstract concept, a forty-foot tall dream in technicolour. It was different when she was a living, breathing, cinnamon smelling woman who walked into his shop, mid-morning on a Tuesday.

"Milk, two sugars," Will shouted after him. "And don't for the fucking life of ya, think this is over with!"

* * *

The little cafe around the corner from Sherwood Rare Books had likely the worst tea in London, Robin was sure. They played dreadful, new-age music and all their chairs were made from cushions tied to old milk crates, sat on by lanky hipsters with man-buns sipping Chai. He'd never been to a cafe in London that dedicated so little focus to it's ability to steep a good cup of tea but the one positive was it was cheap, the cheapest in the street and right now, Robin needed the walk more than he needed quality so he found his way into the little shop, handing over a few pounds for two teas and a couple of cookies before heading back out.

The street was abuzz with activity. Robin could hear the sound of a strumming guitar and a strong, amateur voice playing out from one of the other - _better_ \- cafes, fruit and vegetable vendors were shouting their specials over the sound of the traffic on the parallel streets. There was a puppet show going on outside the old toy shop and Robin made a mental note to come back and check it out later, mesmerised as he was by the marionettes dancing behind their little crimson curtain.

So unfocused, was he, stepping off the footpath with his teas balanced precariously in one hand and a cookie halfway to his mouth, Robin didn't realise until it was too late, that he should have been watching where he was going as he rounded the corner. It was then, as though the world had slowed to an agonising crawl that he saw her face, startled and confused, as her slight frame collided with his solid chest; lukewarm tea spilling a muted brown stain across the soft, off-white silk of her shirt.

Her little squeak as she jumped back turned his insides to jelly, but it didn't quell the overwhelming flood of guilt that filled his senses.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," He fumbled for the napkin he had wrapped around his cookies, tossing the spent tea-cups in the nearest bin before turning back to her, trying to help her dab at the stain. In his fumbling, without thinking, he pressed the napkin to her breast and she jumped back, glaring at him.

"Excuse you!"

He looked to her with wide, stunned eyes and felt the heat rush to his cheeks. "I'm so sorry, I didn't," He licked his lips, guilt overwhelming him but not hiding the fact that he'd caught a glimpse at cleavage down her soft blouse. "Please," He placated with hands up in surrender. "Please let me help you, my house is just over there, I have a bathroom and towels and a place for you to change." He wasn't sure what had compelled him to offer his home, but he knew that he desperately didn't want her to walk away with a memory of him as the guy that spilled tea down her blouse in Notting Hill. "Please, I feel terrible." What would she tell the world of British hospitality?

She looked at him over the rim of her glasses, her eyes practically murderous but for the smallest, near-imperceptible look of amusement; like somehow he'd doused her in tea but she didn't hate him. She seemed to mull over the offer for a moment, her eyes twinkling over the top of her glasses in the sunlight as she squinted in the direction he'd vaguely indicated.

"By ' _over there_ ', how far do you mean?" He didn't care for his own sky-blue button-down, he had a million of them each one as average as the next; but he could imagine her shirt was probably worth more than he made in a week and he felt like he needed to somehow make amends.

"Just over there," He waved across the street. "The one with the garish blue door, just there." He smirked, secretly proud of that little house with the bright blue door, smiling sheepishly in her direction as she looked back up at him skeptically.

She seemed to be summing him up, watching his every move and expression as she considered her choices. The stain was noticeable, covering nearly her whole blouse and soaking it through. She worried her lip, glancing up and down the street for a moment before she looked back up into his eyes.

"Okay," She answered quietly and Robin smiled, widely, gesturing toward the house, guiding her with his hand at the small of her back, but being careful not to touch her for fear of frightening her with a touch that was perhaps too intimate, from the man that had doused her in sub-par tea. "The blue door is interesting," She said quietly and Robin smirked, looking up at his house as they made their way up the steps.

"It's unusual, I know," he nodded. "But I like it, it almost feels like you're stepping into,"

Her voice cut him off and surprised him, a little touch of wonder in her tone. "The TARDIS."

He looked down at her again, surprised, craning his neck back to really look at her for a long moment. "Yeah," He drew the word out, marvelling at how easily she'd drawn the comparison. Not many foreigners did. But her eyes had turned back towards the house, focussed on getting inside to remove her sodden shirt, he was sure. "This way." He opened the front, letting her walk in first.

* * *

Regina didn't really know how to place this man - he was attractive to be certain, the muscles beneath his cotton shirt making her shiver whenever she watched him move, stretching the fabric over strong, agile arms - and she couldn't shake the memory of those muscles beneath her hands as she'd collided with him. His eyes were a bright, ocean blue; eyes she could feel herself gazing into without thinking about it. In the bookstore he'd been adorably babbly and she'd seen in his eyes, the moment they'd met, he hadn't immediately recognised her. The thought of it had a warmth pooling low in her belly - a man that was so focussed on her, so curious of her, who didn't know who she was.

She stood in the foyer of his tall, narrow house, looking up at the tall ceiling and through the corridor to the galley kitchen ahead of them. She listened to him fumble with the door behind her, closing it up before moving back beside her with that awkward, breathy smile she'd seen several times that morning.

He had certainly now discovered who she was and she was a little bit disappointed, but however intrigued that he seemed to persist at not acknowledging it, not really.

"The bathroom is on the second floor," He said, tucking his hands in his pockets with a soft smile. "There's a shelf in there with towels, you're welcome to whatever you need."

She just nodded, looking around the house as he guided her towards the stairs.

"Let me take that for you?" He questioned and Regina blinked, turning back from her place only three steps up from the kitchen, stopped on the creaky stairs by his voice. It was like honey, warm and sweet, a voice that sent a shiver through her and turned her insides out. She stared down at him for a moment, confused and one hand rested on the white-painted banister, before realising he was gesturing to the shopping bags in her hand.

"Oh," Was all she said, before giving him the one with the books inside and moving the other bag to her other hand. "I need this one." She said softly, pulling it against her and he just smiled, that smile that had reeled her in at the bookstore - the smile that had her spending more than she'd ever spent on a book, just to see it one more time before she walked away.

"Very well," She watched him as he gingerly set her bag on a chair in the kitchen, handling her possessions as delicately as he'd handled her, apart from their collision, and she found herself even more intrigued by that bone-deep gentleness he seemed to exude. She was still standing there, staring at him as he moved to tidy his kitchen, his attention and his face turned away from her. It caught her breath.

This man, this stranger, who knew who she was and that she was standing before him; she was so used to the fawning and the swooning, or the misguided hate - the scrambling over each other to get her picture. The bumbling adorableness was a new, welcome response. He must have sensed she was still there, his shoulders tensing briefly as he began to turn, no doubt to ask if she needed anything else.

So she bolted, as carefully, slowly and deliberately nonchalant as she could, she turned to make her way up the stairs, looking around her every inch of the way, ignoring how he missed seeing her face as she turned, but out of the corner of her eye she'd seen him step towards her and stop himself.

The house was not untidy by any means. But it was so incredibly apparent it was a house lived in by a man, from the looks of things, more than one and not even the smallest hint of a woman. Books crowded the corners of nearly every step as she made her way to the bathroom, children's drawings hung in small frames all the way up the staircase and the small bay window on the landing was lined with boots of a few different sizes. She'd have used that space for a few throw cushions and a warm cashmere blanket, she thought - a reading nook - but the pair of tiny green gumboots, no larger than for the feet of a toddler, next to a larger pair, undoubtedly _his_ , had her lips tipping upwards at the corners.

She had to sidestep a Tonka truck on the last step before the bathroom, stepping in and closing the sounds of him in the kitchen, behind her.

* * *

Robin could barely breathe. As Will had so delicately put, she was Regina _fucking_ Mills, and she was currently, in his _fucking_ bathroom. Not one to normally indulge in Will's usual vernacular, Robin found himself in situations like this - though how could he really know for sure, he'd never been in a situation quite like this - using the colourful language of his friend, if only in his head.

She was there, a floor above him and he could hear her moving about. The sounds were faint, she was being careful not to make too many, surely, but he could hear her nonetheless and his heart was threatening to pound out through his chest. He ran a shaky hand through his hair as he paced the kitchen. He went over everything that he'd said to her in his head, cataloguing everything and checking he hadn't said anything too damning. In all his bumbling, rehashing it in his mind's eye, he realised he hadn't really said anything of substance and remarkably, that soothed him. Better she leave thinking he was a babbling idiot, than a blaggard or a right prick.

The comfort was short-lived, though, for he could hear the tap running for a moment, then it shut off, making the pipes shake through the kitchen and an overwhelming sense of dread lanced through him. What if the stupidest thing in the world was due to come out of his mouth when she came down the stairs?

He busied his hands with tossing Will's breakfast dishes in the sink - in getting his son out the door that morning, he hadn't had the time to clean up after his friend like he did nearly every other day. He tossed the old paper he'd been reading over his cornflakes, in the bin and froze in the middle of the kitchen, sniffing the air, realizing for a quick second that he hadn't even thought about the state they'd left the place, before he'd brought the world's most famous - _most beautiful -_ actress, into their home. Thankfully, the kitchen smelled like fresh mandarin and he found himself praising Will's sloppy eating habits, just this once, for the peel sitting on a plate next to the coffee maker. He tossed that too, it had done it's job and he didn't want her to see it when she came back down.

It felt like a million years and thirty seconds, all at once, before he heard the bathroom door click open and tentative steps on the stairs. He struggled to think of what to do with himself, to look like he hadn't just been sitting there, waiting for her, before he realised that that was exactly what he'd been doing, and really, what was so wrong with that? That's why they were there. He busied his hands with repositioning the fruit bowl on the dining table, stepping around the chairs as she took the last few steps down into the kitchen and managed to stop his heart once again.

Clearly he'd soiled her shirt beyond repair, because she'd done away with it entirely and replaced her jeans and blouse with a tight fitting black cocktail dress that highlighted every single curve of her body - it must have been what was in the shopping bag - the internal battle he had to fight to stop himself from staring at her hips as she moved, was akin to David, fighting off Goliath, if there had been a bit where David almost ate shit and died. Robin took a deep breath, grateful she'd pulled her leather jacket back over the top because he wasn't sure he'd have handled it if he knew just how much skin that dress was designed to show.

"Ah," He took a breath, moving around the table towards the fridge. "Would you like a cup of tea before you go?"

She raised one perfect eyebrow, looking to the tea stain still spread across his shirt.

"No, I suppose not. Coffee?"

"No, thank you."

"Juice?" He pulled the fridge open, suddenly desperate to find something that would give him a few extra minutes with her, anything really, that could justify her staying. "I have apple, orange," He looked through the fridge, realising that they really had a fuck-ton of juice options that he was going to have to fight his son to cut back on. "Apple and Blackcurrant, Apple and Pear," He met her eye again, feeling his heart flutter at the sight of the little smile on her lips. "Tropical?"

"No."

"Perhaps something to eat?"

"No."

"My son made these rather horrible looking chocolate strawberries with faces," He pulled one out of the fridge and held it up to her, next to his chin as he plastered a grin on his face. "This one is me."

She suppressed a laugh with her hand to her mouth before shaking her head and looking over her shoulder towards the door. "I should really be going, my car is on the way." It was then he noticed the phone in her hand and realised she must have called someone to pick her up, while she was upstairs. Rightly so, he supposed. "Thank you, though," He could almost see a blush creep up her cheeks. "For your help."

"You're welcome, and may I also say," He felt his voice dropping an octave or two, quieter and quieter the more his confidence wavered. But he was likely never to see her again, in and out of his life like a heart-pounding, overwhelming, beautiful whirlwind dipped in lukewarm, mediocre tea and he had to say it. "…heavenly."

Her eyes were wide for a moment, as he looked up at her, those large chocolate eyes that were no longer encumbered by her sunglasses, free to look on him and for him to see right into them. She blinked, but he hurried to add.

"I thought I'd take my chance to say it," He kept his voice light, his tone steady, doing his best to make it sound sincere and keep it from sounding like every other compliment she'd ever been paid. "Once you decide that book is horrendously overpriced, you're not likely to come by the shop again."

She smiled softly and Robin could feel his insides melting, those butterflies flying up into his throat.

"Thank you." Her voice seemed to be just as small and he didn't dare think it's because she felt the same way, it wasn't possible.

"Yes. Well." He grinned. "My pleasure, my lady."

He seemed to black out from the kitchen to the door, because he found himself suddenly there, standing before her awkwardly and entirely spent for what to say. He'd exhausted every corner of his sanity to remain normal in front of her. But she was standing right there, readjusting her hat on the crown of her head, fixing her hair just so and looking back into his eyes. Blue met brown and he knew, even if she wasn't, he was done for.

"It was nice to meet you." _Good, Robin_. He internally praised himself, that was a good and normal and polite way to end their meeting, to send her off with a bland, if not, positive memory of the whole encounter. "Bizarre, but nice." _Fuck you, Robin, fuck you and everything you stand for_. He wanted to slap himself in the face.

She just nodded, silently, watching him as he reached for the door and pulled it open, letting the sound of the street outside and the world beyond, in.

He didn't open it all the way, letting her squeeze between the door and frame with a gentle smile as she raised her hand to put her glasses back on, dipping past him and moving down the steps. He closed the door behind her, resting his forehead against the wood, raising his head, to knock his forehead against it again, his teeth clenched. "Bizarre, but nice?" He winced at his own word choice, knocking his head against the door again just for good measure. He was normally pretty well spoken, particularly with women, he liked to think. Normally, he wasn't at a loss for what to say and rarely did he find himself at such a shortage that he'd come out with the absolute blunder that was _bizarre, but nice_.

A knocking at the door made him jump clean out of his skin and he stood there, silently, staring at the scuffed white paint on the frame as he listened, thinking perhaps he'd imagined it. But it came again, the gentle knock, a little louder this time and he found himself immediately grabbing for the handle.

It was her. His heart leapt into his throat, he couldn't breathe.

"Forget something?"

"My books."

"Oh!" Robin spun on his heel, leaving her as she stepped back through the door, closing it gently behind her as she pulled off her glasses and he dashed back for her bag in the kitchen and the heavy, leather-bound volume he loved, but was likely to never see again.

"Here," He handed it to her.

They stood there again, as awkward as it was the first time, neither of them moving for the door. Robin couldn't take his eyes off her, feeling from the moment that she'd walked into his shop, he'd been lost to her.

Suddenly, her arm wrapped around his shoulders - just one, her other was still holding her bags - and her lips were pressed to his. The kiss was short but electrifying, the feel of her plush, velvet lips against his, the taste of her and that smell of apples and cinnamon suddenly made his head swim.

Then she'd pulled away, a sheepish, almost girlish smile on her lips that had her port-wine lipstick slightly smeared.

"Sorry for the 'bizarre, but nice' comment, don't know where that came from."

She smirked. "Oh, I don't know," Her eyes were positively sparkling and he realised in that moment, he could look into no other eyes for the rest of his life, and be satisfied. "But you may want to consider cutting back on the fruit juice."

Robin chuckled, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth as he looked down to her mouth again. She seemed to draw in a breath, as though she was almost, _almost_ , considering kissing him again before a loud bang sounded on his front door and they jumped apart like they'd been caught doing something scandalous.

" _Oi! Robin, I know you're home, I heard the pipes ya pillock, I'm comin' in."_

"Oh my god, I apologise." Robin stepped back as he heard the front doorknob wiggling. "My neighbour, Killian, there's no excuse for him, I'm sorry."

In the seconds it took for the door to open, she had her sunglasses back on and her face angled down and away from their intruder.

"Mate, are you gonna tell me where you were last night, or am I gonna have to strangle the truth from you?" Killian squeezed between them, greeting Regina with a little nod as he passed and muttered a 'Hi, love' in her direction.

"Hi," Robin heard her quiet answer and smirked, watching his friend head up the steps into his kitchen and immediately stick his nose in the fridge, entirely oblivious to who he'd just brushed past as he berated his friend for not showing up to his gig to drink rum and hit on women with him, as was Killian's style.

" _Seriously, Robin, how many times have I told you the boy doesn't drink the apple and pear._ " He called through to them from the kitchen, and Robin heard the sound of a juice bottle being pulled from the fridge, a bottle cap being unscrewed - no doubt with one hand - tossed across the kitchen and heavy boots heading back towards them.

"It's probably for the best if you don't tell anyone this happened." Regina gestured between them and Robin felt his cheeks burn at the memory of her lips, the softness, the fullness, how he longed to kiss her again.

"Absolutely," He smiled kindly, genuinely. He wanted her to know, no matter how badly he now ached for what he was letting walk away, he'd never tell a soul. "Who would believe me anyway?"

"I would." She all bit whispered, and that heat was pooling in his gut again, her dark eyes meeting his over the rim of her glasses. "Bye."

He stood in the doorway and watched her go this time, watching her as she stepped down the three front steps and moved across the footpath to the waiting black car and the man in the pressed suit holding the door open.

And then, she was gone.

"And who, pray-tell, was that amazing set of legs?"

Robin looked over his shoulder to his friend; his friend who was leaning against the kitchen doorframe with an open two litre juice bottle resting on his hip. Killian who had a penchant for black leather, eyeliner - he could get away with it, he was a tawdry pub musician - and that prosthetic hook he weirdly seemed to favour over all the other, normal looking prosthetics he'd been offered since he lost his hand three years ago in a drunken boating accident.

"No one," Robin frowned, turning to brush past his smirking friend. "And also none of your business."

"Ooh, aren't we testy." Killian needled with a laugh and Robin just rolled his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

Hi guys, here is chapter 2 - enjoy!

* * *

In all honesty, Robin never expected to hear from her again. He knew that he wouldn't. He knew that she'd go back to her life, and he would live with the memory of that one moment the most beautiful actress in the world kissed him in his messy foyer, for no one else in the world to see. It was their secret, and he supposed it was kind of amazing, really, to share that kind of secret with someone like her.

It was a few days, and he'd held onto a little bit of hope. For nearly a week, he'd sat at the counter in the bookstore, running his fingernail along the edge of the chipped wooden countertop and watching people walking by. Every now and then he'd see a woman in a broad-brimmed black hat and his heart would catch in his throat. Or a flash of black leather would catch his eye and he'd have to stop himself, remind himself, it was ridiculous to think she'd come back.

Two weeks, several beers and Will's ludicrous sense of humour and he felt like he was almost completely back to normal. His friend still hadn't let go about that one time Robin had sold a book to _Regina Fucking Mills_ and he'd gotten to the point, finally, in the third week, where he could detach himself from every time Will brought it up - at the supermarket, at the shop, at the pub, telling anyone that would listen. He managed to pretend he couldn't still feel the warmth of her stomach against his, her lips against his, her breath, against his, every time he remembered it; the part of the story he hadn't told his friend. That she was in their house, that she was in his arms, that he had felt her lips.

That he was okay was a lie, one he was telling himself daily, but it was a lie he was going to have to live with.

The weeks that had followed that day had been filled with so much of what his every day had always been; bedtime stories, pack lunches, sunday cartoons and trips to the park. His son, as always, was a worthy distraction, but for how much his boy could take his mind away from her, his friends seemed to have the uncanny - and in Will's case, almost intentional - skill, of reminding him of her.

It was the middle of the fourth week; just after four in the afternoon on an average wednesday, that he found himself struggling with three cups of popcorn, two large cokes and an excited toddler as they awkwardly made their way through the theatre. Will's idea, of course. Regina Mills' newest film, something about space and martians and everything little boys and Will, loved to see at the movies. Robin had been reluctant, but Will had brought up the idea one afternoon when Roland had been within earshot and he'd been corralled into going, and paying, and then suddenly he was standing in front of a giant cardboard cutout of Regina Mills in a form-fitting, entirely unrealistic, astronaut outfit being drooled over by all the pre-pubescent boys filing into the theatre.

His heart twisted in his chest.

Roland loved the movie, and his popcorn, even though most of it had ended up on the floor, or in Robin's lap. And while his boy had spent the majority of the film, ooh-ing and aah-ing at the explosions and the lens flares and the planets and stars and spaceships, Robin had been once again, mesmerised by dark-rimmed chocolate eyes and that sparkling smile. She was an amazing actress, he had to admit - and it wasn't just because he knew what her lips tasted like, he wasn't _that_ biased - she had _range_.

He'd walked out of the theatre, listening to Will and Roland discuss their favourite parts of the film - Roland loved the spaceships, Will had loved the fight scenes and the explosions - but Robin's heart felt heavier. He tried to shake off the feeling, tried pushing it away - pining wasn't healthy, it wasn't good.

But he longed, _longed_ to see her once again. And not on a billboard or a cutout or a movie screen, but standing before him, smiling _at_ him.

"Hey, did you go and join a newspaper or something?" Will asked absently, tipping his coco-pops into a bowl and filling it with chocolate milk as Robin shuffled, bare-foot and half asleep, across the kitchen on the Thursday morning after the film, flicking on the coffee machine.

Roland was still asleep, and having had his bath the night before, Robin was happy to let the boy sleep a little longer if it meant he could finish at least one cup of coffee before his exuberant, hurricane of a child filled the kitchen with happy noise.

"What?" Robin scratched at the stubble on his chin, only half taking in what Will was talking about as he yawned, leaning on the counter as he waited for the coffee machine.

Will was far too awake for the hour and Robin found himself squinting at the man, confused.

"This woman, Mel or Millicent or something, I didn't really catch her name, said your press application had been approved for this afternoon." Will stared up at his friend, mouth hanging open with half-chewed coco-pops, waiting on Robin's response.

Robin blinked. "What are you talking about?"

"I dunno," Will stood from the table, having inhaled his coco-pops and shoved a piece of paper against his chest as he reached past him to put his empty bowl in the sink and Robin turned his bleary eyes down to his friend's chicken-scratch hand-writing. "She left this message and said for you to call this number to confirm." He looked down at the paper and reached for the phone nested on the wall in the kitchen.

He took a deep breath as he punched in the numbers then listened to the dial tone. He absently watched Will as he waited for someone to pick up; grabbing things from the fridge and tossing them on the table, cheese sticks, a banana, a box of raisins - Roland's lunch, he figured. There was a click on the other end of the line, then a woman's voice.

"Hello, ah, this is Robin Locksley, I had a missed call from you this morning?"

She seemed surprised to hear from him, but her manner was no-nonsense and to the point. She gave him a time, an address and instructions to be there no earlier. She rattled off a bunch of other instructions that went right over Robin's head as soon as he'd heard the words, _Regina Mills_. His heart-rate quickened, he could feel his pulse in his ears and he had almost completely forgotten he was still on the phone. He could hear a slight smile in her voice as she came to the end of her instructions, not giving away at all, if she knew who he was, but her voice softened just a little and lowered to a gentle octave as she assured a moment of one-on-one time to interview the star.

The phone call ended with a click and Robin was beyond confused. He wasn't a member of the press and he didn't have a single clue how to interview anyone, let alone Regina Mills, but then there was something in the woman's voice that told him she did know that. How, he wasn't sure, who she was, he had no idea, but he was beyond curious, especially as it had to do with Regina and maybe, likely, _definitely_ , getting to see her again.

He was staring blankly at the floor for far too long, he realised, when Will's hand was waving in front of his eyes and Robin had to blink several times to refocus. "You good, mate?" Will questioned, pulling his leather jacket on and grabbing for his keys. "You need me to pick up Roland this afternoon, that thing's at three, right?" He gestured to the paper and Robin just nodded, dumbly. "Right, I'm off, i'll see you at the store later?"

"Ah," Robin nodded as Will made his way down the steps to the front door. "Yeah."

"And I'll take Roland straight to Mack's, yeah, for Tink's dinner."

"Shit," Robin hissed, slapping his palm to his forehead. "Yes, god, yes, sorry." He winced at the sting of having hit his own head. "Yeah, I'll meet you there, thanks."

"Fucks sake, Robin, take the day off and get a grip, jesus." Will muttered, shutting the door behind him and leaving Robin alone in the kitchen, the piece of paper scrunched in his hand and his heart beating wildly in his chest.

He was going to see her again. He could barely breathe.

* * *

Regina was nervous. She was sweaty-palm, shaky breath, jittery nervous and Mal was smirking at her with her no-smudge red lipstick, like an idiot, over her coffee cup.

"What am I doing, Mal?" She questioned, jumping up from her seat on the terrace, where her room service breakfast had been interrupted by one Robin Locksley, calling Mal back. He'd sounded confused, bewildered and a little bit enamoured over the line - Mal had put the call on speaker the second she'd realised it was him - and Regina had felt her heart stick in her throat the moment she'd heard his name.

She didn't know it, not until that morning. She'd spoken to Mal about him, whispered in hushed tones behind the door to her suite, where the outside world would hear nothing of Regina Mills tawdry secrets. Mal would never tell. She told her about him, how she'd smiled at him, how her stomach had turned to butterflies when she'd looked at him, how she'd kissed him and never asked his name.

Mal, of course, latched onto it like a dog with a bone and had looked him up.

"You're following your heart, sweetie." The older woman spoke softly, still smiling over her coffee cup. "You told me how it felt when he looked at you."

"But this is ludicrous!" She hissed, running her fingers through her still-damp hair. Mal was perfectly put together, always immaculate, with her hollywood glamour curls, her red lipstick and her leather pencil skirt. The woman, ten years Regina's senior, was Regina's compass, her protector, her best friend and, of course, her manager. If she thought this was a good idea, normally Regina wouldn't question. But she was also a hopeless romantic and a meddler with a mean streak a mile long, ready to reign dragon's fire down on anyone that stood in her way. "I can't do this, I can't play this game." She paced across the room, glancing at her breakfast again and suddenly feeling the urge to upend the table. "You have to call him back, tell him it's been cancelled. Tell him," She froze, biting her lip, trying to think of an excuse he would believe as she twisted her fingers in the tie of her plush hotel robe.

She'd seen his eyes, she'd seen right into them. And she didn't really want Mal to send him away, not when he was just within reach.

"Now, dear, I'm not going to do that and you know why."

Regina sent the woman a withering glare before puffing her chest out in a deep, shaking breath, attempting to calm her nerves. Her eyes settled on her friend again, blinking rapidly, trying to ward off anxious tears. Mal stood from her seat with a gentle, comforting smile - those were rare from Mal; she rarely bestowed any real pleasantries on anyone that wasn't Regina or her daughter. She reached out, grasping the shorter, younger woman's shaking shoulders and squeezing gently to soothe her.

"Everything will be fine, Regina." She reached up and brushed a lock of Regina's slowly drying hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "Just by the way you talked about him, I think you need to give this a chance."

"It's reckless." Regina breathed and let Mal pull her into a hug, her cheek against the silk of her leopard-print blouse.

"Every now and then, we need to be a little reckless, dear."

* * *

Robin didn't show up at the shop. If he was honest with himself, he knew the moment he'd hung up the phone that morning, there was no chance he was going to be able to focus. And Will had told him to take the day - not that he needed his friend's instruction, it was his store after all and Thursdays were historically slow for the little shop.

Instead, he did the pathetic thing and kissed his son goodbye at the pre-school down the road, before making his way back to the house, sorting through their bottomless pile of DVDs for anything starring Regina Mills - and apparently they had a surprising amount - and spent the majority of the day on the sofa, staring at those dark, chocolate eyes falling in love, chasing criminals, riding dragons and casting curses.

So when he arrived in the lobby of the Ritz Hotel, Robin felt like his world was spinning. His palms were sweating and he had to consciously remind himself not to completely crush the brown paper wrapped around the small bunch of blush pink peonies in his hand. He was starting to regret the flowers, remembering this was supposed to be a magazine interview, that woman, Mal, had told him there would be other reporters, they were interviewing the cast of Regina's newest film - which he'd, not so coincidently, he thought - seen an advance screening of the night before.

The overwhelming glamour of the hotel itself, and the realisation that he'd never stepped inside it despite years of living in London, was also a bone-chilling reminder that this whole situation was just a little ridiculous and Robin had to be dreaming, he had to be.

It didn't stop him stepping into the elevator. He wasn't sure anything could. But he did have to take a few long, deep breaths to calm his nerves.

A small man with dark brows and a stern expression stopped the doors with his hand just as they were about to close, jumping in with a brief nod in Robin's direction before clasping his hands together over his iPad before him.

"Which floor?" Robin asked, and the man smirked, gesturing to the number Robin had already punched.

"Same as you, it would appear."

* * *

The whole walk to the suite Mal had told him about felt incredibly weird. He stepped off the lift, giving the other man a nod as he walked away, but then he was right there, just at his heel, heading the same way. Robin glanced sideways, wincing at the man's smile, then turned to keep walking. He gripped the brown paper around the flowers again, as the man continued to follow him to the end of the corridor, stopping behind him.

Robin pointed at the door. "Room one-o-eight?" He questioned, pointing to the door and the man just nodded, bouncing on his toes, gesturing for him to knock. The silence in the hall, draped in a weird awkwardness, was suddenly forgotten in the whirlwind that pulled both men into the large executive suite by a tall blonde with a clipboard and very little patience.

"Name?" She gestured to the shorter man, who puffed up like a bird, chest out and grinned.

"Isaac Heller, The Daily Mail," He leant a little bit in Robin's direction, dropping his voice conspiratorially. "I'm a big fan of Regina's, been wanting this interview for a long time."

Both Robin and the blonde turned their noses up just a little at the short-statured man, who seemed to ooze self-importance, rocking on the balls of his feet. The woman didn't comment, only nodded, checking a box on her clipboard before turning to Robin.

Robin blinked, lost for words before realising she was looking at him, waiting for a response. "Oh, ah, Robin Locksley,"

She cut him off, her eyes suddenly alight. "Oh, Mr Locksley, yes," Her clipboard was suddenly tucked under her arm, there was a tight hand around his elbow and he was being ushered down a narrow corridor full to the brim with shoulder-high flower arrangements, photographers and reporters, waiting in lines and whispering in corners.

"Are you sure this is the best time?" He questioned and she just waved him off, stopping him in front of a closed door, taking a moment to size him up.

"Oh, I see what she was talking about." She smirked as her eyes drifted over him and that hand still at his elbow, moved just a little higher to grip his bicep. He knew he was being ogled and he felt his cheeks flame for a moment, before her piercing blue eyes met his. "The timing is perfect, go on in there, you have five minutes." She shoved him, long nails gripping his arm as she pushed the door open and suddenly, Robin was stumbling through the door and standing face to face with a surprised Regina Mills.

"Hello," Her voice was small and startled; she was a vision, standing before him in a royal blue silk blouse and black pencil skirt, covered by a tailored black blazer. Her hair and makeup immaculate and her smile, nervous.

"Hi."

"I'm sorry about," She gestured to the closed door behind him and Robin waved her off, taking a tentative step towards her, cutting off her apology.

"It's alright."

She watched him for a long moment and Robin found he rather liked the way her eyes roamed over him, not predatory like the woman beyond the door - who he now assumed to be the infamous, Mal - but gentle, curious, like there was a touch of wonder in her eyes.

"It's good to see you."

"Likewise," Robin cleared his throat nervously. "I, um," He gripped the flowers in between both hands before taking another step closer, handing them to her. "I bought you these, I know they're nothing like all the others," He gestured to the elaborate floral arrangements that filled the room and she just smiled, looking down at the pretty pink peonies with a touch of the same pink on her cheeks.

"No, they're lovely." She took a seat on the sofa across from him, watching him with a small smile as he stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. "So your name,"

Robin grinned, finding a seat and taking it, looking at her across the coffee table. "Robin Locksley, yes."

"As in?"

He chuckled, everyone brought it up, every time they heard it, he wasn't the least surprised she did the same. "Hence the 'Sherwood Rare Books', yes."

"And the little green book you gave me," She pointed out and Robin nodded, smiling widely. "Oh, my son would just love that."

Something in Robin melted, his heart, perhaps, filling his chest with a kind of warmth he hadn't felt in such a long time. So surprised was he, that his voice lost all timbre as it came out shaking, touched with wonder.

"You have a son?"

"Yes," She breathed, the blissful look of a proud, loving mother. "Henry, he's six."

"Hm," Robin grinned. "I didn't know that."

"I don't really advertise it." She shifted uncomfortably, brushing her palms along her thighs and Robin felt like a cad, suddenly, realising this must be a subject she didn't really like to talk about - and up until that point, he'd been doing his best to treat her like anyone else, like he hadn't read about her in a tabloid or heard about her on the News. "My son is everything," She continued on and Robin found himself mesmerised by her lips, as well as her words. "I don't really want to expose him to all this." She gestured around her and he found himself nodding. He understood it, he did. The last thing he'd ever want was for Roland to feel like he wasn't safe, or to be exploited for the entertainment of others.

"My son is just four," He met her eyes as she looked up and found himself, once again lost in that vast depth of brown. _God, she's beautiful._ He could hear his own voice in his head. "He's my world."

Regina took in a long, deep breath, just looking at him and Robin would have normally found such a situation incredibly disarming. But her eyes were warm and inviting and her smile was sweet. He wanted desperately, in that moment, to know more about her.

"Are you busy," He cleared his throat. "Tonight?"

"Yes."

"Oh," He was about to follow up her answer, to throw another option her way in the desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, she'd be willing to see him again. He didn't even have to kiss her, though he wanted to, he just wanted to look into her eyes again.

The moment was broken, though, by the door opening and Mal standing there with her hand on the doorknob and a smirk on her lips. "Your five minutes is up, Mr Locksley." She said with a finality that dropped Robin's heart into his stomach. He knew though, that the moment was gone, shattered and stuffed under the rug, because Mr Heller was standing just behind her shoulder, waiting his turn, and Robin didn't want to show off too much of what Regina clearly didn't want anyone else to see. He was her secret, and truthfully, that gave him a thrill. But he wished, hoped, for more; if there was even the slightest chance.

"It was lovely to see you again." He said gently, directed only at Regina who was looking up at him with a touch of sadness in her eyes. Neither of them had realised how short five minutes really was, until it flew by in a second.

"Bizarre, but nice." She smirked and Robin chuckled as he felt Mal's hand at his elbow, pulling him from the room.

Mal pulled him away from her and Robin noticed just quickly, that Regina tugged the woman close and whispered something in her ear, before Mal was nodding and ushering Robin out quickly.

The door closed Mr Heller in the room with Regina and Robin's blood boiled just a little as he heard the start of Heller's first question, as the door swung shut. Something about her costume and how she fit into it, and a part of him wanted to throttle the man. But Mal's hand at his elbow was firm, her grip sure and she was guiding him down the hall. When they passed the main door of the suite, Robin blinked, confused, looking over at her but her expression was firmly set forward.

"Where are we going?"

Her lips quirked up just a little, but she didn't look at him and she didn't say. She just reached for a door handle, on the door at the end of the hall and ushered him inside. Beyond the door was an ostentatious bedroom, with mounds of pillows piled on the king-sized bed. There was a pile of silk blouses stacked up over an plush chair and a breeze coming in from the french doors that lead onto a terrace.

Robin felt, so suddenly, like he was invading an incredibly private space.

"I'm sorry," Mal seemed to sense his unease. "It's the only room we have in the suite that isn't being used by the press." She sighed, gripping his arm then letting go completely. "But I need you to wait here."

"I'm sorry," He blinked. "I don't understand."

"It shouldn't be long," She was backing towards the door, her hand on the handle. "Please, just wait here, I'll come and collect you."

Before he could protest, the door was closed in his face and he found himself trapped in the ornate bedroom, surrounded by what could only be Regina's personal things, and feeling incredibly awkward about it, afraid to move, touch anything or even sit, for fear of overstepping his bounds.

He paced back and forth, rubbing his hands back and forth over his head, five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen - he had no idea what he was waiting for, Regina had said no, she was busy, she had a life, she'd probably only asked to see him today to say goodbye - he knew that wasn't true, it couldn't be, and not only because she hadn't even attempted to say it, instead told him of her son; still. It was nearly a half hour when Robin finally worked up the courage to walk out the door, he didn't know why he was still there, Mal hadn't said anything, just shoved him into what could only be Regina's room, with Regina's things and left him with an awkward fear of touching a single thing and a heavy dose of confusion that was giving him a massive headache.

He reached for the door handle, ready to take back his day and bow out gracefully when suddenly the door was opened and he jumped back to avoid the door-edge connecting with his nose.

"Oh, good, you're still here." Mal grinned and Robin found that this woman, frazzled but no less immaculate, was going to be either his greatest ally, or someone that was going to destroy his sanity.

"You left me here, and said nothing, I didn't really have a choice."

"Well," She smirked, winking over her shoulder as she gestured for him to follow. "There's always a choice and you chose to stay, so you've earned a few points with me." She grinned and he found himself groaning as he followed her down the corridor, noticing that nearly all the press and officials had cleared the suite.

He nearly tripped over himself, however, when she quietly led him back to the room in which he'd left Regina, grinning from ear to ear as she opened the door. "Little more than five minutes, this time," She winked, leaning in close. "But not too much more." She shoved him through the door, her hand in the middle of his back and Robin's breath caught.

Regina's hair was tousled, like she'd just run her hand through it; her blazer was gone and draped over the sofa and she was in the process of kicking off her heels and loosening the highest button on her blouse, when she looked his way.

"Hi," He breathed and she just smiled.

"So," She edged closer, her voice quiet and unsure as she gripped the back of a chair, looking up at him. "That thing, that I was doing tonight, I'm not doing it anymore."

Robin just stared at her. "Oh?"

"So, I was wondering if your offer still stands?"

He blinked, completely surprised. His heart jumped up into his throat as his lips broke into a wide grin. "Yes, yes of course, I," He froze, suddenly, remembering his conversation with Will that morning. "Oh bollocks."

Regina frowned. "What is it?"

"Well," He smiled nervously, apologetically. "It's my sister's birthday, we're supposed to be having dinner this evening."

"Oh, well, that's okay."

"I'm sure I can get out of it."

"No," Regina stepped up to him, moving closer but stopping before she was within reach. "I mean, I can come as your date, if you like."

Robin was consistently surprised by this woman. She floored him at every turn. He didn't know what she was supposed to be doing this evening, but she'd had plans and she'd dropped them to go out with him and now, suddenly, she was willingly offering to come with him to his little sister's birthday party - where his friends would be, where his son would be. Something inside of him warmed and melted and he wanted, so desperately, for this to work.

"You would do that?"

"Well, if you don't mind."

"No," He scoffed. "Oh god no, there's no way in the world I could mind, at all."

"Well, alright then." She grinned.

* * *

Regina could feel her heart racing. They were standing just outside of the large white door of Robin's friend's home. There was light coming from the large bay window, _blame it on the bossa nova_ was playing, coming from beyond the old wood and she heard voices, arguing, discussing, she wasn't sure. Robin had reached for the bell and the ring startled her, even though she'd known it was coming.

She readjusted her fitted black dress three times, straightened her denim bolero and ran her fingers through her hair to ensure it was still and straight, and where it was supposed to be. She had a small gift clasped in her fingers and suddenly, felt a great gust of breath leave her as Robin's fingers wove through the fingers of her other hand at her side. Her nerves calmed, her heart slowed just a little and Robin's smile warmed her from the inside.

"They're great, if a little strange." He assured and Regina smiled up at him, letting her nerves calm further as they were bathed in light by the door flying open, something was said to them in a thick, frazzled Scottish accent and the man who had greeted them disappeared down the hall again.

Robin smiled at her before ushering her inside.

Beyond the mudroom, the house was warm and inviting and glowing with golden light. A woman just a little taller than her with long, wild red curls came towards them with arms out wide for Robin to fall into. "Robin!" She beamed with a similar accent to the man who had met them at the door, who was now fighting with and swearing at the oven behind her as the red head pressed a kiss to Robin's cheek.

"Merida," He greeted, accepting the hug and kiss and turning to gesture to Regina. "This is,"

She cut him off, holding tight to Regina's outstretched hand that she'd taken in hers to shake in greeting, before she'd realised she recognised Regina's face.

"My god, you're the spitting image of,"

Robin cleared his throat. "Regina," He finished his sentence and Merida grinned, dropping her hand and looking between them.

"Right."

" _Gòrach pìos de cac!_ " The voice from the kitchen startled everyone as the pan the large man with a mop of curly brown hair on the top of his head, and broad, angled shoulders was holding, was dropped onto the stove top. Regina blinked, startled.

"Baer Mackintosh I will no have you cursin' at the chicken when we have guests!" Merida boomed, earning a sheepish glower from the large man who continued to mutter unintelligible words under his breath as he poked at the food. Reluctantly, the man followed when she grabbed for his arm and pulled him over, forcing him from the kitchen to stand before Regina. "Now, Robin has brought a date and you're going to be hospitable. Say hello to Regina,"

"Hello, Regina," He reached his hand out after wiping it on the tea-towel he had over his shoulder, looking up to her face as he softened his features into a welcome smile, but his face dropped in shock. "Mills."

Regina laughed nervously, looking to Robin who was just grinning at her before she turned back to the Scottish couple. "Hello, to you both, thank you for having me, I know my coming was short notice."

"Oh, lass, it's fine," Merida waved her off with a grin. "The the more the merrier, I say, and the more mouths, the less John and Will have on their plates, which is a win win, if yae ask me."

Regina was about to open her mouth to speak, to offer more thanks, when the sound of screaming and heavy footfalls was heard, shaking the stairs and the walls, forcing Regina's back against Robin's chest as she stumbled away from the ruckus that burst into the room. Four small children, all appearing to be around the same age came screaming through the living room with a man chasing, growling like a lion behind them. Robin's hand rested on her hip and she felt a tingle spread through her, watching the little boys run.

"Now, Will, we'll have none of that!" Merida chastised and the man just laughed, taking off after one of the red-headed boys and picking him up, letting him squeal.

"Will, and the bairns," Merida tried to introduce, but was cut off by another shriek of laughter as Will blew a raspberry on the boy's stomach and the other three ran a circle around Merida.

"They're all yours?" Regina questioned, leaning further back into Robin, loving the feel of his hand where it was on her hip, realising that he'd backed up to the back of the couch and she'd essentially trapped him there.

"The wee triplets, yes." Regina assumed she meant the boys with the hair as red as hers.

"But this one," Robin reached for the collar of the small boy with a mop of brown ringlets on his head, bringing him to a screeching halt. "This one belongs to me." He beamed at her, able to see only the side of her face as she smiled, but she could feel the warmth of his breath at her ear and could feel her smile only grow. "Roland," He directed toward the boy as he pulled himself out from behind Regina and leaned down to pick the boy up and rest him on his hip. "This is Regina, say Hello."

"Hello 'gina." He smiled and Regina couldn't help but blush at the way his dimples matched his father's, loving the look they were both giving her.

"It's lovely to meet you, Roland." She shook his little hand and Roland's blush only made her adore him more.

"And I'm sure you remember, Will," Robin gestured and Regina turned around, smiling.

"Oh, sodding hell!" Will exclaimed. Dropping his chin to his chest in defeat. Regina remembered the first time she'd met him very clearly. She remembered how he'd startled, nearly dropped all his books and disappeared into the back of the shop. "You didn't say you were bringing Regina Mills to dinner, Robin, for bollocks sake," He reached his hand out to Regina, who nervously accepted the handshake and the kind smile he offered. "I'm sorry," He spoke gentler. "For how I reacted last time." He paused. "And just now."

"It's alright," She grinned, realising that Will's profanity was coming from a place of being embarrassed, and royally caught off guard by his friend. "It's nice to meet you, officially."

The doorbell rang and Will disappeared to get it, leaving them all standing in the kitchen in silence, Regina's heart pounding at being the centre of attention, though no one was willing to voice it. She flinched only a little at the sound of the closing door, smiling nervously at a grinning Robin who stood beside her, as the sound of laughter and chatty excitement bounded through the entryway. Regina had barely turned her head before the exuberant woman, with a pile of riotous blonde curls bundled on top of her head, froze inches from colliding with her, eyes wide and mouth agape as she exclaimed. "Oh, holy fuck!" before slapping her hands over her mouth and staring, unblinking.

Regina jumped a little, surprised by the outburst similar to the two times she'd now met Will, and tried on a shaky smile as Robin gripped her forearm reassuringly.

"Tink, this is Regina," He grinned wider at his little sister's look of complete shock, directed at him, before her eyes went back to Regina. "Regina, this is my baby sister Bella Locksley, but we call her Tink."

"Oh, hi," Regina smiled.

"This has got to be one of those moments in life where you have the chance to be completely cool and I am going to fail, just a hundred percent," Tink moved closer to Regina as she spoke, reaching out for her hand, but resisting when close enough to take it, instead pressing her hand to her mouth again, nervously.

Regina just looked at her, a little surprised, a little awkward. "Can I just say, I completely and utterly adore you, and I just think, you are the most beautiful woman in the world," Regina had heard compliments before, had them thrown at her across red carpets, tweets, messages, flowers in her dressing room from fans, but something about the heartfelt, shaky admissions of Robin's sister, with such a genuine kindness in her eyes, so like her brother, had Regina's heart melting just a little. So sweet was it, Regina could feel a blush come to her cheeks as the girl spoke.

"And more importantly, I have genuinely believed for a long time, that we could be best friends." Her smile fell away to nervousness for a moment as she asked. "What do you think?"

Regina blinked, feeling the warmth of Robin's hand in hers down by her side, reminding her of how he made her feel when he looked at her. The moment was surreal and a little awkward, but Regina could feel that the words were meant with kindness and so she smiled.

"Ah, lucky me." She grinned and a bright smile bloomed on Tink's face. "Ah, here," She reached over to the table where she and Robin had set down their gifts for Tink and picked up the tiny blue box with the white ribbon. "Happy Birthday."

"Oh my god, you got me a present," Tink beamed. "We're best friends already. Oh! Marry Robin, he's a really great guy and then we can be sisters."

Regina let out a shaky, nervous laugh and felt her blush deepen. "I'll think about it."

The doorbell ringing again broke the awkwardness and everyone looked to the door as Will lead a large, burly man through, bigger even than Baer, who was still arguing in Gaelic with the chicken in the kitchen, the smell of something burning reaching all their noses as the three red-haired boys ran circles around their father.

"John," Robin shook the hand of the newest arrival, who had a large gift poorly wrapped in purple paper and gold ribbon, clutched in his arm. "This is Regina."

"Nice to meet you, Regina." John shook her hand with a polite smile before turning around, searching the room. "Tink-a-bella!" His smile broadened. "Happy Birthday!" He handed her the gift and kissed her cheek, completely oblivious to the rest of the room staring at him, completely flabbergasted that he hadn't even noticed who Regina was. "It's a sweater, you don't have to wear it."

"I'm sure I'll love it," Tink smiled, her eyes flitting to Regina, to Robin and then back to John. He grabbed for a beer from the pile of bottles on the kitchen table and turned to the group as he popped off the cap. Even the children had stopped to stare at him, even though they had no idea what was happening, as everyone just watched him in silence.

"What?" He looked around at all their faces.

Robin cleared his throat with a laugh and scratched at the back of his head, smirking in Regina's direction. "Nothing."

Regina found she spent most of the evening just watching and listening to them. The only related people in the room were Robin and Tink, but she could see by the way they interacted, they were close enough to be family, all of them. Baer liked to mutter under his breath and swear in Gaelic, earning him a slap on the back of his head from his wife, every time. Merida was kind and incredibly nurturing with her children, in contrast and doting on her guests. They all laughed heartily and ate their meal with gusto, leaving Regina across from Robin at the table, meeting his eye every now and then, and causing a heat to burn along her cheeks hot enough that she needed to look away.

That smile, those dimples, they were doing something to her.

She found that she genuinely did like Tink, the girl was bubbly and excited about everything, regardless that she was failing her classes and was living on minimum wage in a share-house full of, what she called, self-righteous little bitches. And it had only taken a short trip to the restroom for Regina to return and find that suddenly, John was looking at her in a whole new light. So they told him, he said nothing, it made her smile.

Will was gifted with the children, bouncing Roland on his lap as they ate, encouraging the little boy to steal food from his father's plate who sat beside them and the three little red-heads, she'd learned were Hamish, Harris and Hubert, barely sat still long enough to eat their meals, running around the kitchen island with sauce-dipped chicken nuggets in their fingers and their mother rolling her eyes as she tried to ignore them.

"How do you like the chicken?" Merida leaned over to her and Regina smiled warmly.

"It's delicious, everything is great, thank you."

"That's my Macintosh, looks like a bear, cooks like a woman, isn't that right, hen?" She looked up at her husband, who was standing to clear empty plates. He just looked at her with a withering scowl before reaching for Regina's plate and turning to the kitchen. "He's not normally so surly, but he had to deposit the overdone potatoes in the bin before you arrived, and he's been smarting about it all evening."

"I dinnae overcook them, you," He pointed, accusing, at Merida across the kitchen and she blinked with a 'who me' look in her eye and a hand to her chest in appall. "Put too much seasoning on and ruined 'em."

Merida leaned over and though Regina was listening, she caught Robin's smile across the table as his flame-haired friend whispered to her conspiratorially. "He's so sensitive."

"It didn't need them, the meal was lovely regardless," Regina turned her head over her shoulder to the man in the kitchen. "Thank you, Baer."

He just nodded his head with a softer smile than he'd shown anyone that evening, and when Regina turned back, her heart did a little flip-flop at the look in Robin's eye as he smiled. It was like there was no one else in the room, just her and him and the table between them as he looked at her with what could only be defined as wonder.

The moment was broken, however, with Will's voice and Robin's eyes being pulled away. "I think you're going to have to pack it in for the night, eh Locksley, or this little guy is going to fall asleep where he stands."

All of their eyes fell to Roland, who was fighting against his tiredness with a valiant effort, but his eyes were drooping and his head was falling onto Will's shoulder. Robin seemed to hesitate for a moment, and Regina could feel her own heart pull that their evening was being cut short. She adored the little boy, had become enamoured with him when he'd gripped her shirt and stood beside her at the table earlier in the night, and asked her what going to Space was like. She'd had to tell a story about how dangerous and adventurous it was, and that he'd have to wait until he was a lot bigger to give it a go himself, but it had warmed her heart that he'd recognised her and seen only the adventuress, the astronaut, not the actress. She hadn't wanted to burst his little bubble, and the look in his father's eye had solidified that she'd made the right choice.

"You don't have to take him now," Merida's voice cut through the moment, as she walked back and forth, clearing plates to the kitchen with her husband. "We have to take the bairns to preschool tomorrow anyway, they can have a little sleep over and you can pick him up tomorrow like you normally do."

Robin's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Of course!" Merida scoffed, as though his hesitance was an insult. "Don't cut your evening with Regina short, just because Roland is sleeping and Will clearly wants to cut free of him and go to Ana's." She eyed the sheepish man to Robin's left, who averted his eyes when his friend turned. "Plus, you can't be taking that wee boy out into the cold when he's that sleepy, leave him here."

"Thank you, Merida." Robin smiled, though his eyes were locked on Regina's.

* * *

It took roughly three minutes, walking out the door of Merida's house for Robin to realise he adored Regina - not that he wasn't entirely enamoured already. She was walking beside him, the air chilly and she had her arms crossed over her chest to ward off the cold; her little denim jacket and dress likely doing very little to ward off the chill, and he just walked in silence beside her, both of them watching their toes with each step they took.

It wasn't an awkward silence, it was a peaceful, calming silence with the warmth of full bellies and cheeks still stinging from smiling and laughter. Her shoulder bumped his and he found himself looking over at her, catching the corner of her mouth in a small smile, though her eyes were kept on the ground before them as they walked.

"Your family is lovely." She said quietly, voice soft and gentle and just a little bit awed.

"They are, thank you."

"I'm ashamed to admit, I didn't understand a great deal of what Baer said."

Robin chuckled, tucking his hands in his pockets as they rounded a corner. "Don't be ashamed, he mutters a lot and most of it's in gaelic - he thinks we don't know he's swearing, but it's all about the inflection. He doesn't do a lot to help the stigma that Scots don't speak English."

Regina laughed a little louder at that, grinning as their eyes met when she turned to him, just for a moment. And Robin decided he loved the way her eyes could sparkle.

"They're incredibly Scottish." He grinned. "You know, back down the lines of their genealogy, apparently they're from warring clans," He chuckled as he explained and Regina looked bemusedly fascinated. "So Merida doesn't really like to let Baer live down that the Dunbroch's once ruled over the Machintosh's and sometimes I think the both of them feel they need to reinforce the Scottish thing, like we could forget."

"They're wonderful."

Robin looked down at her, watching her walk with her eyes set on the ground, and with the comment came a look that perplexed him; it was almost like she was surprised there were such people in the world, who could be warm and loving and so full of heart. A look of pain washed over her pretty features, and there was a sharp pain in his heart because of it. But it was gone, so very suddenly and she was smiling again as she saw a secluded little garden across the road.

She grabbed at his forearm, pulling him across the street with a grin.

"Look at this!" She exclaimed, looking through the wrought-iron gates to the peaceful, darkened garden beyond. "What is it?"

"A lot of the streets around here have these peaceful little gardens." He nodded. "They're private, just for the homes that surround them."

Regina looked up at him again, a devilish glint in her eye before she turned back to the fence and he could see her sizing it up. "And that's going to stop you? I thought you were _Robin Locksley_."

Robin rolled his eyes with a laugh and knew she was referring to the serendipitous resemblance of his name to a certain fictional thief. "Robin Locksley, not Robin Hood."

He knew that one was going to come back eventually the moment she'd found out, and he wasn't half amused. But she seemed hesitant, measuring the effort needed to scale the fence in her tight black dress and heels. She seemed determined though, reaching for the bars and shaking them for stability before doing her best to scramble up on the base half of the fence, that was stone and level.

"Oh fine," He brushed her aside, shifting her off the stone wall with strong hands around her waist and moving to the gate with a chuckle, pulling a leatherman from his pocket, holding it up to her and throwing her a wink. "But it had better be worth it."

She laughed as he kneeled before the fence, setting about picking the lock with his tongue sticking out of his mouth in concentration. When the lock finally clicked and the gate swung open with a creak, she brushed past him, pulling him through with laughter in her eyes. He stopped to close the gate again as she moved further into the garden and he smiled to himself at her quiet gasp from behind him.

"Now," He breathed as he stepped up beside her. "Please tell me what was so important in this garden, that I just committed a felony?"

He was stunned into silence when she gripped the lapels of his blazer and pushed herself up on her toes, pressing those plush, dark-painted lips to his. Her eyelashes brushed his cheeks as her eyes closed and his heart skipped a beat with the feel of her teeth, tugging at his bottom lip as she pulled away.

"Ah, well," He cleared his throat. "Is there any other felonies you'd like me to commit, m'lady?"

Regina just laughed, almost skipping across the grass as she moved away from him. He watched her go, entirely enamoured with her and the girlish fascination she seemed to have with the garden, shadowed by night and dense trees. Everything about her was so poised and composed, stylish and refined - regal, he'd have said, if asked to describe her at face value - but this glee, this happiness at being hidden in a little secluded world of green trees and sleeping flowers, she was just a girl, bright and happy and glowing with cheeks flushed from the cool night air.

He followed her out onto an open green field, just marvelling at how strikingly beautiful she was in the moonlight, as she made her way across a little hill to a park bench that sat alone, under a tall apple tree.

" _For June who loved this garden, from Joseph who always sat beside her._ " She read from the engraving on the backrest, the tone of her voice wistful and touched. "Some people really do spend their entire lives together." Her voice dropped, quieter, almost sad, as she lowered herself onto the bench and looked up at him.

Robin's heart was beating rapidly. There was a warmth in him that he hadn't felt in a very long time - he was amazed by this woman, who sat on the park bench in the dark, caressing the edge of it like she could almost feel the love through her fingertips, that had brought it here - a gift from Joseph to June, in memory of their love.

"Will you sit with me?" She asked and something in Robin awoke, his heart stopped beating for a moment and he couldn't pretend that his mind didn't go to wondering if she meant just now, or forever. The metaphor wasn't lost on him, that she was so touched by the little glimpse into the story of Joseph and June and what it meant to ask him, to sit beside her, on this bench of all benches. He couldn't dare hope, but his heart did wish for it.

He moved, slowly, pulling his blazer from his shoulders as he edged towards her, their eyes never breaking contact. He slipped his blazer off, wrapping it around her shoulders with a warm smile as she took it, leaning into his side, preventing him from moving away.

They sat there for what felt like hours, their heads tilted up to the stars and their backs against the memory of a love that lasted an entire lifetime; they talked quietly about everything and nothing with his arm around her shoulders and her cheek to his shoulder.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" She asked quietly after a long, comfortable silence and Robin smiled, his eyes still turned up to the sky.

"I thought you were leaving tomorrow."

He could feel her warm breath through the fabric of his shirt as she turned her head just a little, and the smile in her voice did not go unnoticed.

"I was."

* * *

 _ **Gaelic translation:** Gòrach pìos de cac! = "stupid piece of shit"_


End file.
